Love me like you do
by bakusuki
Summary: It's those sorts of moments that she lives for. But what are those sorts of moments, and how do they differ? / Separated into 7 chapters, for seven pairings that I was asked to do - all of which involve Hilary.
1. Chapter 1

I got another prompt from a lovely little anon ( _and if you're wanting to send a prompt or a fic idea, my Tumblr is Falbcrg!_ ) through Tumblr that was asking for something based around the potential romantic relationships between Hilary and the boys - **including Robert and Tala** \- and hot diggidy damn, I am more than excited to write this people. Overall, there is going to be seven chapters, one chapter for each pairing, and they'll be updated as the inspiration comes; although _I_ personally am excited for Kai/Hilary chapter, because their my ultimate babies.

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Beyblade, nor am I claiming to hold any rights to it's screenplay and it's creation. All rights are owed to the creator, whose done an absolutely fantastic job in pulling back into this fandom. ;) What I do claim as mine however, is the writing, and a lot of the ideas that are being provided into each pairing, I didn't study English Literature And Language for nothing. xD The prompt idea is not mine however, and belongs to the lovely anon who sent me it._

Another really important point that I want to make is: **if you don't like Hilary - then don't read it.** I won't tolerate people flaming her character within the reviews. If you ship Hilary with someone else then fine, skip to _that_ chapter, but please don't flame the other chapters, or flame people that do ship Hilary with other people - we'll stay in our lane, if you stay in yours. Anyway, as I say all the time and will continue to say, your views and reviews mean the entire world to me, and if you could leave a review once you have read this - then it would be much appreciated. However, if you cannot think of anything to write, or simply do not want to leave a comment - that is fine, and I love you regardless. You've viewed it, hopefully enjoyed it, and that means more to me. Thank you so much guys. - Ellis.

* * *

She's come to know him better than he thinks. She knows all of his quirks - the eating and sleeping habits, alongside the tendency to forget that other people have feelings; it comes as part of the package... And she might have claimed so along time ago, but now? _She wouldn't change him_. He thinks that he can still pretend to be some sort of closed book to her, that she's merely observing the blurb, but she knows him. To be honest, Hilary has probably always known him. _Tyson Granger_. That kid with the obnoxious laugh, and the stormy hues, but there's something strangely dazzling about them, they hold a sincerity and warmth that Hilary never knew that Tyson was capable of - she'd always put him down to being loud and inconsiderate. But the way in which his smile reaches his eyes, the way in which his cheeks hollow and dimples form within the corners - there's something else about him. _Something that might just set him apart from the others_. She isn't fond of him because he holds the current World Championship status, she'd been fond of him before all of it. She'd been fond of him when he'd acted like the brainless so and so within their second World Champion, and that notion had only furthered when she saw the more humane side of him. The side of him that braved Kai's harsh glares and reminded him that they'd get Dranzer back for him - _if it was the last thing Tyson ever did_.

How it had come to this? She can't recall, but he's occupying the sofa, and she's sat between his legs, her own legs folded beneath her, with a hazel crown presenting itself against his knee, supported by her own arm, of course. She likes the moments like this, the sort where his fingers with graze with such an absent mind amongst locks of her hair, or when he leans forwards occasionally to see if she's okay, and later claims that he needed to adjust his position. It's those moments, those little moments in which Tyson won't say it in words, but it's there any way: _she's my girl_. It's those little things that he does in front of his friends, without even realising that he's doing them, but he does them anyway - it's those moments. **They're her moments**.

Her head rises from it's position when she notes that Tyson is heavily exhaling, and seems to be muttering something underneath his breath. No wonder. Tyson had wandered onto the Sports channel, where it was finely safe enough to question the possibility of another World Championship after the events of BEGA and would the two most favoured compete against each other again. _No doubt who the crowds favourites were_. Kai and Tyson had promised each other another fight after both had healed after the stress of BEGA, and Kai had also beaten Tyson, but his win wasn't official to the world.

"Do you think he'll enter?" Hilary questioned. It was a ridiculous question really. Of course Kai would. Wouldn't he? Tyson had commented that he'd rather have the original team back, rather than facing off against his friends, but the inevitable would happen. She assumed that the last World Championships had placed a physical strain upon his relationships with the boys, and that he feared that due to the fact they were growing older, another World Championship would force them apart.

Later on she'd watched him, watched how the tan tinge of his features had contorted as if within thought, or maybe even doubt - doubt wasn't the greatest of looks on him, and truth is, she didn't like it. He'd sat like this within the garden for long enough, legs stretched out before him, navy blue hair strung in loose vines before him, idly obstructed by the shape of his cap. Regardless however, he's got his fingers locked around hers, tan meets porcelain, and carefully, does he allow his own digits to explore the softness of her hands. He hasn't looked at her once however, almost in fear that she'll manage to crack him - she's already cracked him, and leans that bit closer to bury one's cheek against his shoulder.

"You're thinking too much about it, Tyson." She turns her face ever so slightly, to bury her face - with polite intention - into his material clad shoulder. He smells of annoyance, _if that even has a scent_. She notes the magnolia that infiltrates her nostrils, a fresh scent that reminds her of the clean clothes she'd placed out for him this morning, he'd been hellbent on wearing the same shirt, because it was his favourite. His hand closes more so around hers, in the efforts of maintaining her closeness, almost in fear that she'll get up and leave him. He can be difficult when he gets like this, he knows that; **they both can be difficult**.

* * *

How did they ever come to this? If you were to ask him, he'd deny it and claim it mere fantasy, but only she knows that he takes her by the hands and whispers thank you, for everything she's ever done for him. If you were to ask her? Hilary would blush and tell you that she can't remember how it happened - it just did. She'd mentally explain how she got lost within the alluring tinge of his eyes, and the way his childish smirk wishes to reach for the stars - that's what she would have said, if she physically had the words to describe it. So the question is - _how did they come to this?_ Simple. Tyson drew with Brooklyn after a destructive and almost endless battle, and she'd found herself incapable of containing the pride that bubbled through her - _her hero_ , and her champion. She'd sunken her fingers into his, and he'd reciprocated, pulling her closer to a haven, than she's ever been before. That's how it had started, followed by the occasional hand holding, and burying of one's face into the others chest or neck; she was no longer deemed a cheerleader, but the stimulus that grounded Tyson.

He isn't like the common boyfriend. Who honestly wants the common boyfriend? He doesn't bring her flowers, or serenade her with rose petals or song - he orders from her favourite take away instead, or he goes to the local bakery and picks the last of her favourite sweet cake and brings it back for her. He doesn't walks within the hot weather, attempting to dip his toes within the local lake, _Gods_ , she used to hate the rain before he existed in her life - now they take a run and a tumble down the wettest and largest grassy hill they can find, and they bet on chocolate sweets on who can get to the bottom first. The first time they'd done it, Hilary had sat back up, complaining that her world was spinning and she couldn't see straight, and Tyson was certain that he'd snorted far too loud, but had leaned into her anyway.

" _Tyson! What are you doing?_ " She'd leaned back a little, hands raises and fingers attempting to untie the grassy knots that had formed within hazelnut bunches, and he's only leaned that little bit further, squinting at her face.

" _You've got something on your face, Hil. Stay still. You've got something... Right... There._ " Odd, how one's voice could serve as a hymn when he usually serves as a cold chill, but he'd been gentle and genuine and sweet when he'd pressed the faint kiss to her cheek. It had been his excuse to get that little bit closer to her. Now they weren't worlds apart. She'd laughed after that, and had forced Tyson away with her foot, claiming he was soppy and such a sap, which he had denied, of course, still claiming that she had a piece of grass on her face.

He isn't sort of boy that does romantic meals - _whatever this whole candlelight and rose centre piece thing is about_ \- no, he's all about cooking her favourite meal, and then cuddling up on the couch, meshed between a fort of pillows and sheets as they slurp at noodles, and Hilary abruptly laughs about Tyson missing his mouth. How he missed - she'll never know. He's the sort of boy, that actually stops eating just to watch her, he watches all the little things that her face does, the way in which the glimmer of the television dances within her eyes, and how she smiles every now and again, sometimes she even catches him, and claims him as a creeper, and he has to reject that comment and claim he can't believe how close she is sat next to him - _"he's claustrophobic," remember?_ He's the sort of boyfriend that prefers sloppy nights that are thrown together, and honestly? That's beyond perfect to her. He's a boy of those nights where they leave their bowls and utensils to one side, and have some sort of tickle war, and ends with Hilary usually besting Tyson, or they fall off of the sofa before one can even be crowned a winner.

"You're a pain, Tyson."

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ pain." True, but she'll roll her eyes and she certainly doesn't give him the satisfaction, simply claims him a clod and hits his chest.

He's the sort of boyfriend who doesn't form perfect sentences, nor can he describe her as affluently as a poet could do, _he probably uses puns instead_ , or spent the best part of the night previous looking up the cheesiest of lines to rehearse between himself and then say them to her - and she's actually a lot cleverer than Tyson thinks she is, but him doing that, means just as much, and she finds her blush is incapable of hiding. He also definitely claims that he didn't look up cheesy lines from the internet, and they were totally from the heart, and Hilary knows that whilst they were from the internet - they **were** from his heart. He also isn't the sort of boyfriend that enjoys stargazing, and pointing out constellations, or comparing her to beauty of the galaxies beyond. Actually, he prefers to compare her to his Grandpa's garden collection of rare flowers and she finds it entirely pleasing. He hasn't got the best knowledge of the flowers, and calls them 'thingies' from time to time, but all faith is restored when her face is buried into her hands, and honestly, she shines brighter than any star, in fact she shines brighter than the sun.

Rei bought Mariah a glass figurine of a lynx once, apparently it reminded him of her, and apparently she had a thing for collecting all the figurines, and you know, getting all this little antiques for people is great and everything, but Tyson isn't that sort of guy, and doesn't think that figurines say what he wants to say. Or for that matter, prove anything that he means. He's more for simply serenading her within the daylight, and watching how it dances across her face, and how at some angles, she has to block the view of the sun, because it's obstructing her eyesight. Sometimes he simply likes to watch the little things that she does, for example when she pulls at the stems of grass beneath, and almost gives nature an apologetic look, as if she meant no harm. Or what about the way, she picks at the daisies and dares to fight anyone who claims they are nothing more than weeds - _they make great daisy chains apparently_. They also look really nice in her hair. He likes those little moments. Or the sorts where Tyson and co., are at the local park, buried deep with the shards of grass that dance wildly around them. He likes the moments where Hilary is sat between his legs, and so absently does he draw spirals and little shapes along the span of her spine, dotting notions of affections within each turn and slope. Yeah, you could say that Tyson is a completer sucker for those moments.

But he's also a complete sucker for the moments when they're alone together, and even then, they still have their disagreements, and even then, Hilary is still threatening to knock that lop-sided grin of his into next week! She still does it when the boys are having breakfast, and he supposes that is a great part of what makes up their relationship. She still has to tell him to man up every now and again, and she definitely has to chase him around the kitchen with the first utensil - _usually a spatula_ \- that comes to hand when he attempts to dip his finger into the bowl, but she also definitely knows how to kiss all the right places, to seal the notion of affection that dances between them. For example, when she kisses his shoulder as a reminder that he isn't out of touch and he'll never be out of reach, it's the petal plucked sort of kisses that leave him grounded. Or what about the ways in which he kisses her check, and traces along her nose? Those are the little things. _The little moments that Hilary and Tyson live for_.


	2. Chapter 2

I promised a second chapter ( _I actually promised seven chapters_ ) and I'm really excited for this chapter, because it's one of my favourite pairings for Hilary. As you know, this is based off of an anon I got through Tumblr, and I was super happy to oblige and give people what they wanted - _plus I've been wanting to writing something for Kai and Hilary for a long time_ , and might actually make something separate to this. **Maybe**.

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Beyblade, nor am I claiming to hold any rights to the screenplay and it's creation, all rights are reserved for it's creator, and will remain that way. And do I need to put a disclaimer on every single chapter? Maybe not, but I'm going too anyway, because you can never be too sure. The writing and the ideas for each chapter are mine - so no stealing - it took me long enough to make each chapter individual from the others. Once again, the initial idea is not mine, and credit is due to the anon who sent me question - wish I could know who sent these wonderful things! xD_

Another point that I want to make, and will probably make on every chapter - _so if you get the point, you don't need to read this bit_ \- if you don't like Hilary - then don't continue in reading, because it's based around her and her relationships. If you don't agree with any of the pairings for her, that is fine, you're allowed to sail whatever ship you want, but don't stray into others peoples lanes. Please respect that. **Do not flame anyone who ships Hilary 'with said character', it's rude and won't be tolerated.** Positive criticism is always welcome, but not if you're going to flame this just because you don't like a ship. And as I say before anything that I write, and I will continue to say: your views and reviews mean the entire world to me, they keep me going, they keep me interested in fleshing out more stories and exploring my favourite characters, so please - if you have the time to leave a comment, please do. But if you can't, or do not want too, _THAT. IS. FINE_. I will continue to love you regardless, and never want you to be pressured into anything. Thank you guys. - Ellis.

* * *

It hadn't always been like this. She'd second guessed his loyalty, and he'd not given her the time of day, almost viewing as unworthy of his acknowledgement. She considered different theories, and that he's apparent alliance with Tyson and co., was nothing more than a front, and he was after something else. But that had always been Hilary's nature, and now as she sets within his lap - _she hates herself for even doubting him_. He is different than what she first expected, and he smells different too - currently he smells of freshly cleansed hair, maybe it's an orange scented shampoo he'd used, but there's a faint smell of well washed cotton, mixed with a faint smell of cinnamon... There's also a damp smell of sweat. He admitted that sometimes, he hates sleeping alone, and that his past catches up with him, and despite his best efforts to run, it simply isn't enough. Tonight had been one of those nights, and as much as Hilary valued sleep, **she valued Kai even more**. His arms set at just above her waist, but his fingers have reached outward, and are grasping into the material of her nightgown. His face is buried into her chest, and he shakes occasionally, and Hilary is rather certain that he might have snuffed back a sob. She couldn't imagine him crying, but then, how selfish of her to assume that. He'd been still before this, a complete puzzle crafted from porcelain and pale flesh, but unlike her - the cracks had already begun to show upon him. The moonlight had been gracious to him, dancing amongst the span of one side of his face, but he'd began to move eventually. Calloused digits had grasped his sheets, and crumpled them within tight fisted balls, and _that's_ how they got here.

When it had first happened, Hilary hadn't been sure as to what they were. Still friends? _Were they something else?_ So many questions had intoxicated her mind, and really, all it had taken was for him to weave his fingers through hers, and press the faintest of kiss behind her ear, for her to realise. He'd been careful and feather light with her, just as she'd been tender and careful with him. Afterwards, they'd shift from one another, but it was careful, and Hilary could swear that she'd been high upon his grasp, and despised the moments when he would let go. She despised a few things that he would do, _or at least_ , came to mildly annoy her - such as when he fell silent, or dipped his head into his chest... It was those moments when he'd attempt to create a wedge between himself, when he considered himself a burden, or that he simply wasn't good enough.

Her fingers trace his spine carefully, she notes the contours of his spine and the little distance between the disks. She's pressed flush against him, and he's pushed back slightly, arms pressed slightly behind him, with fingers coiled into the emerald green of the grass that dance around him. His legs are spread before him, and her legs are bent over his, her knees pressed slightly into his sides. He was silent, and said very little - she hadn't expected anything else - but occasionally he'd brush against her cheek, and press feather light kisses to her flesh. How he'd been so lost, and she brought the light, _when he'd only wanted to dance within the dark_. She enjoys this, she enjoys the peace that comes between them, she enjoys the gentle call of the birds who spring into gentle song, the velvet blue that dances peacefully above them - she enjoys this, because it's just them. It's her and it's Kai, and he doesn't need to act.

"Do you think you could study here?"

" _Here?_ " Yes. Here. That is exactly what she had just asked. She raises her head, fingers tracing from his spine and coming to his shoulders. Good question. But would he study here, or would he go overseas, back to London maybe? It was a stupid thought really, and she didn't understand how she could become so possessive him, he was within her reaches, but surely that wasn't destined to last?

"I've thought about it. Can't be certain that I have a lot to stay for." She notes the smirk that is written into his features, the cunning grin that labels translucent flesh, how teeth manage to bear even within the slightest of looks. _Cheeky little_... She needn't say anything else, because he'd reached up, arms pressed against her, with fingers crawling her spine and pressing her closer, **if that's even possible**. His smile is intoxicating, she must admit, she takes a moment to enjoy how his nose crinkles with the sheer force of his smile, never mind how it touches his eyes and somehow the crimson tinge of his eyes, had never seemed more pleasant than they did this moment. There are many things that Hilary has noticed about Kai, things that she hadn't noticed before, either that, or they just hadn't become obvious still Hilary was up close. She's noticed that his nose crinkles up whenever he is within thought, though she cannot tell if it's intentional or unintentional, but he does it anyway. Or what about how his tongue peaks out between his lips every now and again, or how he hides his gaze behind the slate colouring of his fringe, or the way his fingers fold and unfold from the palm of his hand, or the way in which he settles his face into the comfort of his scarf, when he thinks that no one has noticed; but she has.

Hilary lives for the moments when she prepares breakfast for them in the morning, making sure that there are plenty of dishes and multiple varieties of food, ready on the breakfast table, 8:00am sharpish. _No sooner, and no later_. She lives for the moments where he comes into the kitchen, dressed but without his scarf, and he passes her the faint glow of his smile, it's small but exists, and there's the faint dusting of his fingers as they run against her shoulder. She lives for the moments when they're all sat together, Tyson, Max, Rei, Chief and of course, Kai and Hilary, and Rei is occupying one of the chairs, silently observing the flickering screen of the television, and Tyson and Max swap cards in a game of Top Trumps of the efforts of succeeding the other, and there's the tapping of Chief's laptop, as his fingers practically glide across the keyboard, and then there's Kai and Hilary. He's settled back into the comfort of the sofa, legs spread before him, and she's sat aside of him, legs idly folded across his lap, with her face buried into his shoulder - that's what she lives for. She can hear him breathing, and she notes the rising and falling of his chest, and more importantly? Kai is hers.

* * *

So how did they get here? Kai never does too much talking on the matter and prefers to keep himself to himself, this means any details of himself and his relationship with Hilary are usually kept for himself. Hilary would respond with a small smile, a fond smile that is written amongst the stars and belongs entirely the enigma that is, Kai Hiwatari. She recalls it very well, and how they'd connected through his drive to succeed, even if that meant having to sacrifice himself. She'd been the first to his side when he'd recovered from the injuries that his match with Brooklyn had served him, and she'd woven her fingers across the span of the many small and larger scars that had marred his flesh. That's how they had gotten here, through years of mutual understanding, and the urge to look after him, even when he deemed himself incapable of being cared for.

Kai is Kai, within his own way, and Hilary admits that she wouldn't have it any other way. He's the sort that clicks roses from wild bushes, or bushes that are overhanging from garden fences - he does so because Hilary reminds him of a rose. Petite and beautiful, delicate even, but the only thing that matters within the Spring sun, but just like the thorns, she is sharp and independent. The truth is, Hilary has a collection of withered roses, that are fragile and delicate even upon sight, and she's gotten them all from him, and it sounds ridiculous to the many - but she keeps them because with them comes meaning. Unlike the others, Kai finds it difficult to comprehend his feelings and place them into words - _and damn his reputation if he even tried_ \- so he brings her home the little things, the things that say: **I thought about you today**. He's the sort who prefers the early mornings and the late nights. In the early mornings, he can watch sleep like dew dance around her sleeping face, whilst fingers dance around her face - he never realised that she has a few freckles on her cheeks, or that her nose crinkled within her sleep. In the early mornings, his fingers can dance along her cheek bones, and flutter amongst her shoulders, whilst he traces lines and patterns and swears they have some meaning. Late at night, it's just him and her. Sometimes they have their legs tangled between one another, and she admires his face and draws lines from his forehead to the tip of his nose, she'll comment how his nose is awfully sweet, and he'll regard her as an idiot - _yes, but she's an idiot for him_. Sometimes he has his back to her, not because he's ignorant or whatever, but because he despises this sense of weakness, but her arms are always wrapped around his torso, with agile fingers gliding across the top of his chest and softly against his shoulders. Sometimes it's her back that is pressed against his chest, and that's fine - just as long as she isn't so far away from him. He'll kiss behind her ear, and make silent promises as he glides his nose carefully amongst her shoulder.

They take walks around the lakes, and local parks, or even through the forests - they walk for that long, that sometimes Hilary insists on being carried, and Kai is more than happy to oblige - often doing so, and burying his face into her neck momentarily, for she's the sweetest thing in his life. Once they took a walk around the lake, and Kai had been insistent on feeding the ducks, and she'd given him the satisfaction - but not before she'd pushed him in. He's cleverer than most think, and made it a sure will of his to drag her along with him.

"I didn't think it'd be _this_ cold." She uttered between a pair of sharp, clenching teeth, amongst her best efforts to cling to him. He'd never been satisfied in his life, and claimed a one - nil victory within his head.

"It's a lake, Hilary. Of course it's going to be cold." Tell her something that she didn't know. She'd made sure to tap his shoulder as a fair warning, and he'd responded with a hiss that kind of said: _not on wet skin, for the love of God_. God bless any one else who had dared to push him in, at first they might have received a death glare of crimson daggers, a warning, closely followed by the potential chance of death as Kai insisted on holding you under. Hilary is a different matter to him, and he clings to her as if his life depended on it, and in some way - perhaps it sort of did. She had saved him on numerous occasions, preventing him from going the same dark path that attempted to constantly pull him under.

"I'd give you my scarf... _But that's also wet._ "

He isn't the best with words, and he certainly isn't the best with actions either. He can't express in words how much he adores her, or how much he enjoys watching the moonlight dance amongst her flesh. So he waits until it's just them, and no one else, and he traces her lips with his fingers and pressed kisses to her nose and her cheeks, and his fingers dance within her hazelnut crown as he so idly knots his fingers amongst strands, and claims that he doesn't mind getting lost with her. It's these little moments that he loves. They're little moments. The sorts where he can kiss her fingers and she traces over his scars and swears that they are precious to her, just as much as the rest of him is. He likes the moments where she's sat between his legs and occasionally her fingers will reach for his jeans, and idly her fingers will run upon his inner calf, and it's the most innocent and polite sensation that he's ever felt. It's warm and genuine. It's the little moments he can bury himself amongst the crook of her neck, and lose himself within her scent, whilst his fingers quake and his chest heaves, and she whispers amongst little kisses, _promising that no one will ever mean as much to her, as he does_. It's those little moments.


End file.
